Wilco: Roadcase 9 (2012)
I was supposed to be seeing Wilco next week but... not so much. Damn you, pandemic! So I'll have to be content with spending some time cranking my extensive collection of Wilco live recordings. Fortunately, they're one of the few non-jam bands who make a lot of their shows (at least since 2012) available for download. (For their first few decades, I've got some kick-ass bootlegs, so those'll do.)
At least sitting here today, you can download most of the official Roadcase shows for about $5 apiece, so knock yourself out. I've been hanging out with a 2012 show from Columbia, OH, that's particularly great, but, hey, find a setlist you like and give it a shot.
Anyway, here's what I had to say about live Wilco in Jittery White Guy Music:
Here's "Box Full of Letters" from the Columbia show:
Here's "Impossible German" (not from the same show, but always a reliable stunner live):
...also from a different show, here's "Heavy Metal Drummer" and "I'm The Man Who Loves You":
At least sitting here today, you can download most of the official Roadcase shows for about $5 apiece, so knock yourself out. I've been hanging out with a 2012 show from Columbia, OH, that's particularly great, but, hey, find a setlist you like and give it a shot.
Anyway, here's what I had to say about live Wilco in Jittery White Guy Music:
Just as
hearing a particular album in the right state of mind can flip a switch, the
right live show can be the spark that elevates the music into something
entirely unexpected, leaving you kicking yourself for not having figured it out
sooner. Hearing a great performance with your head in exactly the right space
(take that for what you will) can bring to the surface something that hadn’t
quite clicked before—the song that just sort of sat there on the record comes
to life, the lyrics taking on personal significance, the hooks branded directly
into your consciousness.
Maybe it’s
the added volume, a sonic ambience that doses you with music from all
directions until it becomes as palpable as it is aural; or the collective
enthusiasm of a large crowd all in thrall of the band, the mass validation of
the artist’s work; or just the increased focus you bring to bear when you’re
staring intently at the stage, your sensory perception perhaps augmented, none
of the distractions you might encounter when you’re puttering around the house
with the stereo playing in the background.
That’s how
I got into Wilco.
Mike had
been trying to foist them on me since their 1995 debut, just as he’d tried to
sell me on frontman Jeff Tweedy’s earlier band, Uncle Tupelo, to no avail. What
he was pitching as “Americana” (or “No Depression” or “alt.country” or whatever
descriptors critics deployed to describe music with a rootsy twang), I simply
heard as “country.” And I just couldn’t abide by country.
In
hindsight, my resistance made little sense. Plenty of bands I loved in college,
like the Long Ryders and Jason & The Scorchers, had an unabashed country
streak in them, as did many of my classic rock favorites, from the Byrds to the
Dead, not to mention Michael Nesmith’s many fine contributions to the Monkees
catalog. And in truth Uncle Tupelo had about as much in common with country
music as the Replacements did, maybe even less.
But I was
game to check Wilco out live, catching an outdoor gig along the waterfront in
’97, and then that ’98 Fleadh Festival appearance. And their albums started to
grow on me. Their sprawling 1997 double-LP Being There firmly embraced a
traditionalist yet lively classic rock sound, and 1999’s Summerteeth was
a positively McCartneyesque, hook-filled pop album, abandoning any vestiges of
their earlier twang, an album far more indebted to my beloved Ram than
to, say, Sweetheart of the Rodeo.
But what
finally did the trick was seeing them play the Fillmore in the summer of 2000,
touring behind Summerteeth. Indeed, I can pinpoint my nearly religious
conversion to a precise moment, as they launched into “A Shot in the Arm,” the
swirling piano causing every molecule of the room to shiver, Tweedy’s lines
about existential doubt packed with raw, unfurled emotion. By the time he
pulled out a battered and beaten old guitar and started hammering out the noisy
riff for a new song called “I’m the Man Who Loves You” (which would show up, after
a protracted record company imbroglio, on their next album), I had completely
fallen in line, ready to follow Tweedy up to the mountaintop.
It’s hard
to recreate, in the harsh light of day after the last encore has receded,
exactly what it was that made such an indelible impact on me. The venue itself
deserves some of the credit, both the rich history you feel whenever you enter
San Francisco’s legendary Fillmore, the walls lined with posters commemorating
classic performances by everyone from the Dead to the Who to Pink Floyd, up
through a compendium of essentially every artist that has mattered for the past
50 years, and the crystal-clear sound system through which you can hear every
second of sustained guitar from any spot on the floor.
Or maybe Summerteeth
just lent itself to a live epiphany, packed with great songs but, to my ears,
held back by listless production, truly coming to life only when the band
stretched out on the Fillmore stage. And, of course, it was hearing those songs
in just the right state of consciousness, much like that first trip through
“Franklin’s Tower” back in my college dorm, my focus completely subsumed in the
vibe.
Here's "Box Full of Letters" from the Columbia show:
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